ALT #401: Long Day
Long Day
Summary: Two exhausted crew members share brief thoughts regarding the munitions ship explosion.
Date: 11/Feb/2014
Related Logs: None
Phin Toby 
Hangar Bay - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Each hangar deck is divided into five one-hundred yard sections, each divided from the others by massive blast doors that close vertically from the floor and overhead. Each hangar section houses all of the Vipers, Raptors, and Predators that the wing operates as well as the vital work areas to support and maintain these fighting platforms. Each bay is large enough to accommodate one of these frames and still get heavy work done, though the fore- and aft-most sections are dedicated to overhauls and major work to be done. The bays along the center section are located across from launch tubes and elevators in order to provide scramble and Alert-Five capabilities. The second-to-aft bay provides major elevator and transport access to the starboard bay as well as the major manufacturing facility. Due to the nature of the work, the hangar decks are major hubs of activity at all hours of the day and all but four hours overnight.
AWD #401

It's shift change time. Phin is just coming off Alert Five. Hours of sitting in a Viper, waiting on the off chance you'll be called to scramble. Today, however, it was a bit tenser than usual, when the explosion of another ship in the Fleet was reported. There was little for the Vipers to do but fly an increased CAP while the SAR birds scrambled, and watch for Raiders that never came. Still got the blood pumping a bit more than the standard day around Piraeus, though. There's still a good deal of activity on the Deck, even if the action has died down, and he tries to keep out of the way of any work being done as he heads back down to the bay proper.

Toby has had one of those shifts. There's frak all he could do directly, but he'd just been coming on shift when the explosion was felt and is only now finding that he can hand over to others and actually stop for a moment. First he'd started running to damage control stations, then back to get the S&R raptors prepped and gone, along with turning them round inrecord time when they landed. He is, to put it simply, exhausted, both fromthe sheer physicality of his day, and the adrenalin drop that's starting to take hold. Needing a shower, some food and a long sleep all equally much he stashes his helmet away in it's locker and wearilly gets to work on his coveralls too.

Phin isn't paying much attention to where he's going, and blunders almost directly into Toby. "Whoa! Frak! Sorry." He drops his helmet. He'd had it tucked under his arm, but it now goes falling to the hangar floor with a metallic bang and rolls away.

Toby jumps, just a fraction at the bang as the helmet falls, yeah, one of those days. A quick glance to the object in question then to the pilot earns Phin a vague nod in both recognition and acknowledgement before his brain kicks in properly and he adds a grunted, "don't worry about it." He eyes the helmet again, but it doesn't look like it has the momentum to get anywhere where it might constitute a hazard, so he doesn't go diving for it immediately. Instead he asks of the pilot, "been out there? Heard it was pretty bad."

"Little bit. Didn't see much of aside from some debris," Phin says. "Wasn't any sign of hostile aircraft, and it's the Raptors who do that kind of dirty work." He doesn't sound like he envies them. He watches his helmet roll, muttering a "Frak" and going to pick it up.

Toby finishes removing his coveralls as Phin goes for the helmet, ditching them into his locker as well, to be delt with at somepoint that isn't now. Nodding slowly to the pilot's words he glances bak in the direction of the lift as the klaxon signals another returnee. "Looks on some of their faces said about all we needed to know," he comments about the raptor crews before turning to let the bank of lockers take a load of his weight. "Frak this shit, seriously, frak it long and hard."

"Yeah," Phin agrees quietly. About the Raptor crews, and the general 'frak this shit' sentiment. He picks his helmet up again, tucking it awkwardly back under his arm. As he's resituating himself, his eyes fall on teh sidearm at his hip. It's standard for a pilot to wear while on cockpit duty, and there's rarely any call to use them, but he seems to be reminding himself it's there just now. "Maybe it was an accident. I mean…maybe…" He trails off without any sort of conviction.

"Heard it was mostly carrying munitions," Toby replies, sound both equally unconvinced yet equally willing the statemens to be true, "accidents happen.. I mean.." He follows the glance to the pistol, then back up to Phin himself with a faintly questioning look before something clicks and he shrugs it off. "Reckon it's going to be a long night," he adds, really for want of anything better to say, "wonder if the Ensign is going to get any sleep at all these next few days."

"Yeah," Phin agrees simply. "Long night." He eyes the bay. Like he's both reluctant to leave and reluctant to stay. "Maybe I'll grab a shower. Get some coffee. We're probably all basically on Alert tonight, even if we aren't technically on-duty. Even if it's an accident…people'll be on edge." Him included, though he tries not to show it too much.

"Food," Toby adds to Phin's list, "someone said once that's important too. Shower definitely, then sleep I think." The bays are given another lingering glance, "shouldn't be so bad tomorrow, but I'm going to get my head down while I can." Lesson learnt from Picon that. "Shit happens, least I'll have had some shut eye eh?" Then as the conversation seems to be getting his synapses firing a little, "you know if the toaster ever pulled duty out there? I mean, I still ain't seen him but if they moved him somewhere to be safe from us?"

"I don't know," Phin answers simply, about the toaster. The matter troubles him, from his tone, but he says no more on it. "Shit happens, yeah. Look sharp, Crewman. See you later." With that, he wanders off. To shower and grab some coffee and a mid-rats sandwich from the mess. Then, more than likely, he'll be back. To stand around in case a scramble is ordered.

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